morning fisherman

When I peeked out my front door the next morning, mist was rising off the lake, partly shrouding a fisherman leaning out of his boat to collect the morning’s catch.  In the thirty minutes I took to shower and dress, the mist was gone, leaving the fisherman fully exposed to my voyeuristic lens.  I grabbed my camera and headed up the road, anxious to start my boat tour of the moody looking waters.  

Lek, my boatman, lead me to a long, narrow, wooden boat with a small engine in back.  Three well-worn woven mats were lying in the middle of the boat, inviting me to settle in and take a ride.  I eagerly accepted the invitation.

Kheuan Khao Lake was formed when three converging rivers were dammed.  In the process, an old Mon village that resided at the confluence of those rivers was flooded and submerged by the lake, a sort of mystical Mon Atlantis.  (The Mon are an ancient ethnic group in Southeast Asia whose territories in years past covered portions of Burma and Thailand.) I had heard that parts of an old temple peeked out of the lake and my imagination ran wild with the imagery I anticipated seeing and capturing with my camera.  

Thailand's longest wooden bridge

First, Lek and I headed for the long wooden bridge that Katrina and I had walked over the previous evening and then we motored out to find the underwater temple remains.   As we motored along the perimeter of the lake, I got a glimpse of families yawning and starting their day: women scrubbed clothes, little boys brushed their teeth.  All were perched at the water’s edge from their floating houses; the lake was deeply interwoven into their lives.  An enormous and elaborate golden chedi gleamed in the background.

The sky was dark and dramatic that morning.  The threat of rain was imminent.  Yet life continued.  Fishermen fished.  A grandfather and grandson made a beautiful team, each seated at extreme ends of a long narrow boat, rowing past rolling green hills dotted with what appeared to be tea plants.  The grandfather noticed me watching them and stopped rowing for an instant to wave and smile. 

As we traveled into deeper water, we passed a strange looking contraption made entirely of wood and ropes.  The floating bamboo platform supported log poles arranged so erratically to my eye that it could have been an abstract art installation.  To the contrary, Lek said it was used to catch fish. 

the "spirit house" looking pagoda protruding from the lake

I was surprised when we reached the underwater temple, which looked nothing like I had anticipated.  What appeared to be a white spirit house with a bright, golden pagoda was lifted out of the water by stone pillars and the wooden framework of something resembling a portico.  Had this once been the entry point to the temple compound?  About one hundred feet from the “spirit house” structure, crumbling stone remains of the temple walls emerged approximately ten feet high from the watery grave above the rest of the temple.  The roof had long since either decayed or been washed away.  The waters were dark on this particular day so my view of the temple consisted exclusively of the stone that managed to escape the lake.  As we puttered around to what had obviously been the front of the temple, the rounded top of a doorway emerged and beside it, a mosaic stone relief that resembled a pagoda. 

Something prompted me to leave my camera gear in the boat, dive into the water and through the door to explore the temple interior and parts of the temple that were currently out my sight.  Maybe it was the gloomy day that cast a foreboding shadow on the idea of such a bold move.  Maybe it was a remnant of my former fear of water that was born after a near drowning experience five years earlier.  Maybe it was the look of fear on Lek’s face when I bounced the idea off of him in charade format.  For whatever reason, I suppressed the instinct and remained in the boat, my imagination still churning with the imagery of crumbling stone Buddhas receiving kisses from multitudes of fish and lake creatures.     

Before heading back to the dock, Lek showed me some limestone cliffs that had been whittled away into beautiful formations by the water over the years.  One cave that had formed was now used as a natural temple. A bamboo ladder lead up to it allowing people to climb up, leave offerings for Buddha and pray.  In this area, there was a fisherman quietly pulling up his nets and stashing a fish or two in his boat.  I love watching the fisherman work.  At some point before my trip is over, perhaps I can convince one to take me with him one morning to either help or at least watch and photograph.  

successful fisherman

After Lek and I docked, I decided to go explore some of the local wats.  I was interested in trying to chat with the monks and learn a little bit more about Buddhism as it is practiced in Thailand. The first temple I went to seemed to be brand new and still under construction.  The door was blocked with plywood. Decorative concrete embellishments to be added to elaborate stone structures were set out to dry on the side of the temple. 

The monks at this particular temple, as in many others, varied in age from about fifteen to seventy.  I saw lots of them moving around in one area of the temple compound so I headed over to say hello. Several of the young monks were brushing their teeth and another seemed to be putting on his robes so I figured this was their living area.  I walked away so I wouldn’t accidentally catch one of them dressing and embarrass us both. 

Adjacent to the “living area,” an older monk seemed to be holding a small ceremony with a woman and her baby.  I waited for them to finish and approached to say hello.  The old monk immediately started indicating that his knees hurt (arthritis perhaps?) and then abruptly turned his back and walked away.  So I hopped on my motorbike and headed over to the other temple that had caused my jaw to drop when I arrived in town the previous day … the one with the very large reclining Buddha.  

man brushing dust from newly cemented pagoda before painting it

I stopped first to admire the nine larger than life (literally) Buddhas seated across the street.  Next to the gravel lot in front of those Buddhas, three new stupas were under construction in various stages, each of them surrounded with bamboo scaffolding.  One stupa received the attention of three workers who were covering the brick structure with concrete, smoothing the concrete and painting it.  The man painting at the top worked in his bare feet which seemed to mold to the concrete that had already been placed and dried.  The workers were friendly and we exchanged hellos and smiles. 

I walked across the street to the temple/monastery itself and found several older monks sitting on benches watching one monk weave some sort of basket onto a bamboo pole.    At first, they were shy but they warmed up after I spoke to the in the limited Thai that I know and invited me to sit with them.  Some younger monks joined us then too and a few began practicing their English with me.  

One asked me if I had seen the monkey and motioned for me to follow him.  Sure enough, I had not misunderstood.  Near the monks’ quarters were two monkeys, a baby and an adult.  Neither my Thai nor their English was good enough for me to understand how they happened to have acquired the monkeys.  Both monkeys wore belts around their wastes onto which a chain about fifteen feet long was clipped.  The baby monkey immediately sprang into action and climbed my leg and then my hair.  He sat on my head and tried to take my glasses off my face.  The monks clearly spent a lot of time playing with this little guy but he still had energy to spare.  He was cute but a handful.  

one of the monks with the baby monkey

The adult monkey didn’t take to me so much.  He was lying on his back enjoying a tummy rub from one of the monks when he spotted me.  His peaceful demeanor was gone in a flash as he jumped up, growled and started to charge me.  I stepped back beyond the length of his chain.  Recalling the monkey bite I sustained in Bali, I was thankful when his chain grew taut and forced a distance between us.  

Many of the monks had gathered around now.  Most kept a little distance from me and smiled shyly, but seemed to watch everything I did.  One of the young monks brought me a puppy to hold and play with.  Another had me write my name and address in one of his books.  He introduced himself to me as Somsit and handed me an envelope that he had pre-addressed to himself, care of the monastery.  He didn’t give me any instructions about what he wanted me to mail to him so I told him I would send copies of the photos I had taken at the monastery that day.  He seemed pleased and offered to give me a tour of the temple and monastery.  

Before we set off on our tour, Somsit unclipped the baby monkey from his chain.  “Don’t worry. He won’t run away. He’ll take the tour with us,” he told me.  Sure enough, the baby monkey stayed with us for most of the tour.  He would sometimes lag behind, distracted with a bug or a piece of string and sometimes he would run ahead and jump up and down on a railing as if to say, “Hurry up!”  So lead by a monk and a monkey, I got a personal tour of Wat Somoet.  Throughout our tour, several monks invited me to take their photos.  That was certainly new … and welcome!  

an older monk posing for his first portrait in twenty years

Seeing that they didn’t mind having their photograph taken, I asked an older monk who was lounging on raised platform whether I could take his picture.  He smiled and stepped into his room.  I took that to mean that he was shy and would rather not, but he re-emerged a minute later with a bright orange robe that he was wrapping around his upper-body.   He didn’t mind having his photo made. He had merely wanted to appear more modest in his portrait. 

He stood very formally next to the platform he had been lounging on just minutes before and posed with a very solemn look.  Another older monk walked up and the first monk grabbed him by the elbow and walked him over to a table where they both posed for me.  To look at the expression on the first monk’s face in the photos, you would think he was an unwilling participant.  He looks so serious, almost slightly scowling.  I thought it a very humorous contrast to know that he not only was willing, but initiated the second portrait with the two monks.  I never captured the first candid composition that had caught my eye when he was lounging on the platform.  In a way though, these portraits were just as good if not better because of our interaction.  

The older monk smiled when I showed him his portaits on my digital camera.  Somsit translated for me that it had been twenty years since this monk had had his photograph made.  It seemed to bring back pleasant memories for him.  

Somsit with the adult monkey

After thanking the monks for their hospitality, especially Somsit, I said goodbye and headed back to my hotel for a bite to eat.  On the way, I passed a group of brightly dressed Muslim children who were happy to pose for a photograph.  Back at the Burmese Inn while enjoying some delicious curry, I noticed some fabulous wooden puppets.  The owner told me they had been made in Burma and advised me to look at the Mon market held every day beneath the enormous gold chedi.  I was smitten with the puppets and was now on a mission to have some of my own.  

The next morning, before heading to the Mon market, I made a quick road trip on my motorbike up to Three Pagodas Pass located right on the border between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar.  On the way, I got a chuckle out of some cattle that walking alongside the road.  One of the cows had picked up a piece of blue cardboard and was carrying it in its mouth; not chewing or trying to eat it, just carrying it.  The other cows were trying to take it away but the cow in possession was defending its treasure.  Weird … and very funny.  

I arrived in Three Pagodas Pass and was surprised to see how small and understated everything there was, including the three pagodas for which the town was named.  Contrary to the information in my guidebook, the immigration officer advised me that the Burmese border was closed and that foreigners were not permitted to cross.  About fifty feet beyond the immigration office were some red and white barricades that stood only about three to four feet high.  No one seemed to stand guard around them.  Beyond the barricades, motorbike and car traffic passed within feet on Burmese soil.  As I was watching, three men simply walked around the back of a building that sat on the border, crossing without incident or notice from the Burmese side of the border into Thailand.  Interesting. 

the unintimidating albeit "closed" border crossing between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar

I walked closer to the barricades and noticed a sign that said “1. ALL FOREIGNERS  2.  WELCOME TO MYANMAR 3. NO VIDEO CAMERAS ARE ALLOWED.”  Of course, I took a photo.  Convinced I would somehow get across the border, I decided to put my rebellious thoughts on the back burner for the moment and did some souvenir shopping.    

I found a number of beautiful sculptures made from sandalwood amid the tacky plastic chotchkies that outnumbered them.  In the process of doing my shopping, I found my way to cross the border.

I noticed that many of the vendors’ stalls opened at the back as well as the front.  Although there were metal gates in the back, these gates looked easy to jump. Immediately on the other side was Burmese soil.  I began talking to one of the vendors who had such a gate in the back of his stall.  As we talked about the border situation, a Thai tourist from Bangkok named Darwed happened up and was also interested in crossing the border.  The vendor told us that Thai people were permitted to go across but foreigners were not.  He himself lived in Burma, but crossed the border each day to work in his souvenir stand.  He seemed to like my rebellious streak and suggested that Darwed and I pose by the gate in the back of his stall while he hopped the fence with my camera and took our picture from Burmese soil.  We happily agreed.  

yours truly on Burmese soil ... for 30 seconds

After he took our photo, he told Darwed, “You know, you can cross if you want to because you’re Thai.”  Darwed was a little nervous and reluctant, but finally did so and I took his picture with Burma as his backdrop.  The vendor then looked to the left and the right and told me, “If you hurry, you can cross too just long enough to have your picture taken.”  I didn’t need a second invitation.  I jumped the gate, had my picture made and crossed back.  Although I don’t have a visa stamp in my passport, I do have a photo to prove that I went to Burma/ Myanmar … at least for 30 seconds.

Darwed and I both thanked the vendor and hopped on our motorbikes back to Sangkhlaburi.  I had to hurry to check out of my hotel.  Darwed was obviously in a bigger hurry because he roared past me and waved.  I passed him when I got the security checkpoint where his bike was being searched.  I was waved through.  “Good luck” I called to him.

Back in Sangkhlaburi, I packed my bags and stored them with the hotel clerk while I ventured to the Mon market in search of the wooden Burmese puppets.  I looked for thirty minutes before I spotted them.  I picked out three that I liked and braced myself for the price.  I had seen some slightly larger the week before at a market in Bangkok where the seller was asking 3000 baht each (about $100). My jaw hit the floor when this vendor offered to sell me all three puppets for 1000 baht total.  “Wrap them up,” was all I said.  I was thrilled with my bargain.  

rustic Burmese puppet

While my puppets were being wrapped, I explored Chedi Luang Phaw Uttama, the temple connected with the golden chedi that loomed over the Sangkhlaburi landscape.  I marveled at the architecture and photographed the variety of sculptures of oversized Buddhas in the temple parking lot.  

Thirty minutes later, I was on the road waving goodbye to Sangkhlaburi and headed back to Thong Pha Phum.  Between the friendly people, interesting history, shared border and culture with Burma and stunning landscape, Sangkhlaburi is the kind of town I could easily live in for a year or so.  It was with great regret that I left after only two and a half days, but I was meeting a friend in Bangkok and had a few more stops to make on the way so it was time to move on.  The road was calling my name.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.